


All Hallows' Eve

by MirroredSky



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Costume Party, F/M, Halloween, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:07:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26803381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MirroredSky/pseuds/MirroredSky
Summary: It's the night of October 31st. Invitations have been sent and accepted. Costumes are required and debauchery is encouraged. Ghostly delights emerge at every turn. Greatest fears are waiting to be uncovered. And Draco Malfoy is behaving inexplicably as always.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 12
Kudos: 141





	1. The Ballroom

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first Dramione fanfiction I've written, and I welcome any and all types of feedback. Thank you for reading, and happy Halloween month.

The cracks of apparition sounded in the foyer of the mansion, one after another in a jarring cacophony, as the clock struck nine on All Hallows’ Eve. Hermione steadied herself as she snapped into the unfamiliar room, her slightly heeled shoes clicking on marble. Her eyes swept over the wide entryway where she was standing, trying to adjust to her new surroundings. 

It was dark throughout, lit only by a few clusters of candles, and almost eerily silent. Beneath a pair of rounded staircases was an entryway framed by two grand wooden doors, opened wide. Beyond them, lights pulsated brightly in shades of purple, orange, and yellow.

Excited laughter bubbled up between a pair of wizards nearby, and their shadowy figures stepped forward toward the doors. After adjusting the sleeve of her dress, she followed after them. As soon as she stepped between the doors, the boisterous sound of partygoers washed over her. She realized the sound had been spelled silent in the foyer, likely to unsettle guests as they arrived. Her lips quirked as she mused on the theatrics of it all.

The event of the season was taking place at the home of Aidan Lynch, former Seeker for the Irish National Quidditch team. Anticipation had been building for months leading up to Halloween, gossiped about in workplace hallways, or on the corners of Diagon Alley. It was discovered that it had been planned with the help of the Department of Magical Games and Sports, and that was how half of the Ministry, including Hermione, had found themselves with an invitation.

At first, Hermione was not sure she would accept the invitation at all. It was her first year at the Ministry, and she was working hard to prove herself worthy of her position. She worked even harder to try to break out of any allowances the title of “Golden Girl” might have afforded her. Oftentimes, she found herself working after hours and too tired to think about social events even with her closest friends. 

As the days drew closer, the allure of the party and the changing of the seasons beckoned her. Even though Halloween had always had a tendency to flip her life on its head, she found herself longing to see her friends, most of whom would be attending. She had decided to go, and prayed for a pleasant night without unexpected chaos like the bathroom trolls or criminal outbreaks of past Halloweens. Taking a small breath, she fully crossed through the doors and into the heart of the party.

Bright orange light glowed from hundreds of enchanted jack o’lanterns that floated in the air above a spacious ballroom. Their cut out faces were part ominous and part welcoming, smiling down at the crowd below and promising a night of unearthly mischief. The flames within them oscillated in multi-colored hues. The ballroom itself was framed by marble pillars that swept up to a high ceiling, masked in a black fog. From within the dark cloud, tiny lights glittered like stars above, sometimes twinkling in the shapes of unknown creatures’ eyes.

Brass candelabras taller than Hermione lined the walls around the perimeter, and there were even more candles on the different surfaces spread out throughout the space. Somewhere on the far side of the expanse, the muffled rhythm of bass was beating vibrations through the marble floors.

It was bright enough to make out a multitude of guests in the center of the room, many standing at tables decorated in orange tablecloths while chatting animatedly. Even so, it was still dark enough that the edges of the room seemed to cloak the attendees who had chosen to lurk there. On one side, some were lavishing a grand buffet, piled high with sweets and libations. 

Hermione began to move toward the center of the ballroom, eyes passing from guest to guest, hoping to sight a familiar face. Every attendee was in costume, making some harder to recognize at first glance than others. The host had required everyone to wear a costume, as he was inspired by Muggle parties taking place that night. Hermione laughed inwardly at how ironic that inspiration was when she noticed at least half of the guests were dressed in normal Muggle clothes.

“Is that the Golden Girl herself?” Hermione tried not to flinch at the nickname as she stopped and turned to find a senior in her department standing at a table nearby.

“Your costume is marvelous,” Belinda exclaimed, lifting a white veil off her face to take a clearer look. She must have been a corpse bride. The fake diamonds on her arms jingled as she grabbed Hermione’s arm, pulling her for a closer look.

“Thank you,” Hermione said, suddenly uncomfortable with the attention. This was her first time attending a party where her coworkers were present. She adjusted her skirt, wondering if it was too short, even though it reached almost all the way to her knees. It was of a leathery material with a fitted bodice that flared at the bottom. She had decided to come dressed as a bat, like the many that flitted about the Great Hall this time of year.

Belinda begged to inspect the batlike wings she had fastened to her back, so she obliged and turned around, facing the opposite direction. Gentle prods and pulls jostled her shoulders as her senior admired the makeshift wings on her back. A sheepish smile had begun on her lips, but it died as quickly as it had started when a pale man, with unmistakable platinum blonde hair, entered her line of sight.

Draco Malfoy was leaning casually against the next table over, one arm draped across its violet tablecloth, and the other brandishing a glass of deep red wine. He was wearing black wizard’s robes with a dark brown fur lining around his neck. Unsurprisingly, a pair of beautiful witches hovered next to him, eyeing him greedily. The Malfoy heir had made a name as wizarding London’s most eligible bachelor after his family was absolved of their involvement in the war. He himself had even proven that he was dedicated to turning a new leaf by joining the Department of Magical Law Enforcement two years prior.

There had been three occasions Hermione had run into Draco at the Ministry and the memory of each event had bothered her endlessly. The first was in the lift when an unexpected jolt had caused her to stumble into him accidentally. He had used his arms to steady her close to his body before smirking and letting go as she jumped away. Their second encounter was in the cafeteria when she had been finishing her lunch alone. Somehow she had made eye contact with him across the room, and he had had the nerve to wink at her. The third and final event took place late on a night that she had worked after hours. On her way out, down a deserted hallway, she had rounded the corner and promptly found him snogging a dark haired witch against the wall. 

While each event had unsettled her like a puzzle she was unwilling to solve, the pieces kept resurfacing in her mind uninvited. Attempting to smother the memories was easier for her than admitting that she could still remember the ghost of his arms, or the way his hands caught in the hair of the unknown witch from the hallway. She watched as he swirled his wine glass and raised it to his lips, thanking Merlin he wasn’t looking in her direction.

“Hermione?” The voice pierced her trance, and she shook away her thoughts, turning back around to face Belinda. Her coworker had finished scrutinizing her wings, and had been trying to get her attention for a few moments. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, I’m quite fine,” she replied with a polite smile. Belinda’s eyes were narrowed as she peered behind Hermione’s shoulder, trying to see what had taken her attention. As a diversion, Hermione blurted out, “I had just thought I’d spotted Harry at the buffet table, but it seems it wasn’t him.”

“Oh, splendid luck! I saw him a few minutes ago by the bar on the other side of the ballroom.” She pointed in the general direction for clarity, as there must have been at least five different bars spread throughout the party. She paused before speaking a little more quietly, “I’m not sure if I should say… but I’ve heard Ronald Weasley isn’t in attendance tonight. I thought you might like to know.”

Hermione painted another smile on her face and assured Belinda that she was quite indifferent as to whether or not her former beau was present. The sentiment was made true by the time and distance that had passed between them since they had gone their separate ways.

She wished Belinda a good night, and parted with her, intending to search for the bar where she might find her friends. When she left, she found herself involuntarily taking one more glance toward Malfoy.

He stood aloofly in the same spot as before, wine glass still in his hand. But this time, his grey eyes were locked on hers, like he’d been daring her to look.

The corner of his lip twitched before she tore her gaze from his and marched away.

xXx

The most famous couple in the wizarding world were perfectly aligned with the holiday’s spirit, but decidedly lacking in creativity. Harry and Ginny had come as pumpkins, their clothes bright orange, and their heads topped with olive stemmed hats. Black eyes and mouths had been spelled on their clothes to shift their expressions from spooky to whimsical and back again. While Harry sported a simple shirt and pants, Ginny wore a glittering dress that reached almost to the floor. The two were laughing together about something while leaning against a bar that looked like it was built out of bones.

Hermione smiled warmly, glad to have found them after her journey through the party. While Belinda had pointed her in the right direction, the ballroom was much larger than she had anticipated. At one point, she had almost been toppled by a rowdy group of quidditch players who were playing some kind of drinking game. Her route had also taken her past a few Ministry employees she recognized and a few admirers of her wartime efforts, but she hadn’t seen a single schoolmate. She was beginning to wonder if they were all unrecognizable in their costumes before finally spotting Harry and Ginny.

“The two of you came as pumpkins? Really?” Hermione teased, finally making it to her friends. Hearing her, the two noticed her arrival and beamed. Ginny immediately wrapped her in a hug, before giving her an exasperated look.

“It was the only thing I could get Harry to agree to wear.” She pointed a glare at him which he responded to by shrugging with a grin that was completely lacking in apology.

“It’s good to see you, Hermione. This is the first time I’ve seen you out of your work uniform in months,” he said, clearly trying to distract Ginny from pursuing her current train of thought. His tactic was rewarded as Ginny wheeled her gaze back to Hermione, looking her up and down. Her mouth parted ever so slightly as she surveyed the look.

“Well you do only ever see me at work lately, so I can’t say I have much fault there.”

“Nevermind work, Hermione. You look… _wicked_!” Ginny interrupted, absolutely bursting with excitement.

“It took me longer than I’d like to admit to transfigure these wings,” she replied, lifting one shoulder and glancing at the small leathery appendage on her back. Even though it had been a new undertaking, Hermione had enjoyed the challenge and was pleased with her work. 

“Yeah sure, Hermione. It would take me a week at least to make something like those. It probably took you a whole half an hour,” Harry laughed.

“Forty-five minutes actually,” she corrected. Harry rolled his eyes and she elbowed him in the side before the three of them shared a laugh.

Before she knew it, Ginny had ordered her a Smoking Blood Brew from the bartender and they had passed a half hour catching up and chatting about the party’s extravagance. Harry and Ginny had arrived only a little while before her but had already seen Seamus Finnigan, Luna Lovegood, and Oliver Wood. They had also apparently gotten familiar with all of the ins and outs of the party.

“Everyone has been talking about the haunted maze out in the gardens. They keep raving that it’s terrifying, but I can’t see how it can be all that scary,” Harry was saying. Compared to the real horrors they had been through just a few years ago, Hermione was inclined to agree.

“Considering the efforts they went through just for the entrance hall, I wonder what kind of magic they thought up out there. Are you planning to go for a look?”

“Apparently they only allow you to go in pairs. No more and no less,” Ginny replied apologetically. “We were planning to go after we had a few drinks.” She had just finished her second cocktail since Hermione had arrived.

“Go on then! Come back and tell me how terrifying it is when you’re done.” Hermione shooed them away from the bar, glad to have seen them, but not wanting to get in the way of their night.

“All right, I suppose I might as well get this over with. We’ll come look for you afterward. Let’s go, Ginny.”

As Harry began to walk away, Ginny leaned in close to Hermione and spoke more softly, “If you need a friend while we’re gone, the bartender looks persuadable.”

Shocked, Hermione looked up to find the man working behind the bar staring at her. He quickly looked away when her eyes met his, busying himself with the drink he was making. Embarrassed, she turned to retort at Ginny, but she was already gone.

“Have fun while we’re gone, Hermione!” Ginny called out, laughing so loudly it was almost a cackle as she trotted away with Harry, who looked confused. Hermione narrowed her eyes as she watched them make their way toward the garden doors.

“Can I get you anything else?” The bartender’s voice startled her and she turned to face him, still feeling embarrassed. A top hat rested atop his curly black hair and he was dressed in a tuxedo. She wondered if he had been privy to Ginny’s earlier remark.

“Any recommendations?” She asked.

“For a beautiful witch like you, the Succubus’ Kiss is a good match. It’s part sweet with a twist of tang.” If it wasn’t clear already that he was flirting with her, it was undeniable when his eyes drifted down to her lips. 

“Err- sure, I’ll have one of those then.” 

He floated a glass onto the countertop and began concocting the cocktail. Though she was flattered by his interest, the thought of romance was not high on her list of priorities. She did admit that he was handsome though. His face had sharp angles that reminded her of Malfoy’s, but they didn’t come together quite as neatly…

Jolted, she wondered why she was thinking of Malfoy at a time like this. It was an alarming habit that had formed ever since the time they had met in the lift. She had never liked him much in school, and even openly disliked him most years.

Perhaps she still wasn’t used to the idea of a Malfoy that worked in Law Enforcement. Or perhaps she was puzzled to see him moving about in society like a normal wizard instead of mirroring his father’s pureblooded elitism. Whatever it was, she didn’t take joy in him entering her thoughts uninvited.

Irritated with her train of thought, she leaned against the bar, focusing on the different liquors the bartender was mixing together. It was possible that a distraction would be beneficial for her psyche.

A few other patrons ordered from him, and he began multi-tasking, making liquid magic happen before their eyes. Bottles weaved in and out of each other in the air, somersaulting over each other as they dropped streams of the perfect amount in each waiting glass. The showmanship was skilled and practiced. When done with her drink, he slid a glass filled with a dark pink potion in front of her.

“Enjoy,” he said with a smile, concentrating back on his other orders. She took the chance to slip away before he could continue his flirtation.

She navigated to an empty space by the wall before taking a sip of her drink. It burned in her throat, but a lingering note of sweetness made it pleasant. Peering down into the drink, she started walking towards the buffet table. It had only been a few steps, when she stumbled, colliding with something hard. Recovering her balance haphazardly, she barely managed not to spill the drink all over the floor.

“Had one too many, Granger?” A familiar voice, smooth yet condescending, washed over her and she froze in place. Draco Malfoy stood in front of her, calm and collected, as if she had not just collided with him. His eyes flashed with something as he looked down at the drink in her hand. The apology that had been forming on her lips fell away and was replaced with a glower as she recovered her wits.

“Err- pardon me, Malfoy. Enjoying the party?” Part of her wanted to escape as quickly as possible, but another part of her felt rooted to the spot, like she was trapped. 

A smirk started at the corners of his lips as he considered her. He was only a step’s length away, much closer than when she had seen him earlier in the night.

The dark brown fur of his collar sat on top of crisp black robes that half-enveloped his body, reaching toward the floor in jagged points. Underneath, he wore a white dress shirt, unbuttoned casually at the top, and black dress slacks. Once she noticed the two sharp fangs on his teeth, she understood he must have come as a vampire.

“I’m less than fascinated by muggle customs, but the party has had its amusements. For one, I didn’t expect to find Hermione Granger drinking herself dumb in the ballroom instead of with her nose stuck to the inside of a book. I’m even more surprised that you aren’t still at the Ministry working your heart out with whatever drivel they’re having you do in Magical Creatures.” The points of the fangs on his teeth gleamed as he spoke, and his tone was unfeeling. It was as if he was discussing the weather.

“I’m hardly drinking myself dumb. I simply wasn’t looking before I started walking,” she began, before wondering why she was explaining herself. She began to feel uncomfortable, but she would hex herself before she would show it to Malfoy of all people.

A catlike smile crossed his face, “I don’t remember you as being particularly clumsy at Hogwarts. And you fell on me in the lift just a few weeks ago as well... Someone might start to think you’ve been doing it on purpose. Perhaps the real reason you’re here tonight is to run into me. Craving romance, Granger?”

Hermione flushed, feeling her cheeks warming rapidly. She suddenly felt ready to smack him across the face.

“Not every witch wishes to be the next lady of Malfoy Manor, regardless of what you might think. And I believe it was _you_ who winked at _me_ when we were in the cafeteria.”

“Did I?” Malfoy asked, raising an eyebrow. “I’ve probably winked at every mildly attractive woman in the Ministry at least once or twice. I did have to make an exception for you though.”

Hermione scoffed, unable to tell if he was joking. She wouldn’t be surprised if he was serious.

He continued, “So enlighten me, Granger. Why come tonight, if not for me?” She noticed he was no longer looking at her, and instead seemed to be looking toward the bar of bones that was now behind her.

“I am quite capable of having a night out, away from the _drivel_ of Magical Creatures. Though I know that sort of duality is something your mind may not be able to comprehend.”

He was silent for a moment, and his expression hardened.

“Interesting choice, to accuse a former dark wizard of not understanding duality.” Even though his tone was still casual, there was ice in his words. Her eyes darted to his arm where the dark mark was hidden beneath his robes. While Malfoy could be infuriating and pompous, she knew he did not leave the war unscarred.

“I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant that someone could have unexpected interests that would surprise others, but they would still be their interests all the same.” She inwardly cursed herself, wondering why she was explaining herself once again to Malfoy.

Most dark wizards had been sent to Azkaban for the evils they had committed in the war. But there were a few families that were found to have had no choice. They had been abused horribly during the war, but also faced prejudice after the war was over. She would never belittle the strength of Malfoy’s character after knowing how he had overcome his past and even regained respect for his family.

Malfoy was regarding her silently.

“I understand what you meant,” he said quietly. Then his tone turned low and restrained, “I also have my share of unexpected interests.”

The air between them seemed to still as his eyes darkened, piercing her own. She didn’t know when they had grown so close, but she could feel the warmth of his body crowding hers. Possibility hung in the space between them, thick but intangible as she tried to make out the meaning behind his words. It was broken when he shifted away from her suddenly, adjusting his collar as if nothing had happened.

“I am quite interested in what Granger’s Night Out might entail. It does seem like you’ve been enjoying the party much more than I have,” his gaze was back on the bar as he said it, and then moved to the drink in her hand. He gave her a knowing smile, but it didn’t quite meet his eyes.

Embarrassment bubbled into irritation at his scrutiny as she realized he must have seen her encounter at the bar. He probably still viewed her as the bookish girl from Hogwarts and scoffed at the idea of someone flirting with her. A small pang of disappointment grated on her, and she forced herself to ignore it.

She raised her glass nearly to her lips, saying, “Once I’m finished with my drink, I’ll have to go for another. The bartender makes much better company than you.”

The glass was almost at her mouth when she felt his fingers envelope her own. A slight gasp left her lips at the unexpected contact. Eyes narrowed, Malfoy gripped the base of the cup and brought it to his own lips instead. Her hand was still clutching the bottom of the cup, trapped beneath his grasp. She had to raise her arm, as if feeding the liquid to him, in a way that seemed intimate.

He poured the Succubus’ Kiss into his mouth. Once it was halfway drained, he swallowed and drew his eyebrows together.

“Too sweet,” he reported, grimacing and wiping at his mouth with the back of his other hand. Following his movement, she couldn’t help but notice the way the pink spirit had lightly stained his lips.

“I don’t remember offering to share.” She snatched her hand away, forcing him to let go of the cup. His fingers brushed lightly over hers as they separated. She hated the way that the contact made her heart jump. She realized she was harboring some kind of attraction for Malfoy. This confusing fact, and her already buzzing emotions, caused her temper to flare.

“I’m sorry again for bumping into you like that. I know you wouldn’t voluntarily put yourself through the torture of talking to me otherwise. Perhaps we’ll see each other at the Ministry. Hopefully, not very often.”

Malfoy opened his mouth to reply, but Hermione wasn’t finished, “And by the way, it’s racially insensitive to dress up like a vampire. Muggles don’t know any better, but for Merlin’s sake, you should know better than that!”

Her plan to turn on her heel and leave before Malfoy could rebuke her was interrupted by a sharp burst of light.

_Flash!_

Dazed for a moment, her vision cleared to reveal a short and stocky wizard standing before them.

“Pardon us! We hope we aren’t intruding on anything important,” he said, beaming at the two of them. Next to him, his assistant was fiddling with a camera device, trying to make sure the lense was clean.

“We’re taking pictures of all of the matching couple costumes we can find. The best ones will be in The Prophet tomorrow. Imagine my surprise when I saw the two of you! Such a charming couple! This may just make the cover page! I can see it now: The Golden Girl and the Reformed Death Eater - a tragic love that persevered through the war and was finally reunited...”

“What- oh- but we’re not-” Hermione started before being cut off.

“Wouldn’t it be more professional to ask for permission before taking photographs?” Malfoy’s tone was menacing and he had stepped in front of her slightly.

“Apologies, Mr. Malfoy. We’ve had many couples lining up to have their shot taken. I only assumed... We can forget the cover story and include it with no caption if that’s more to your liking-”

“That would be-” she started, but Malfoy was already speaking.

“That’s very much not to my liking. To be clear, I forbid you from using that photograph in the papers tomorrow. You will not publish it without my permission. And you will not begin sparking any unthinkable rumors about Granger and myself. Not even that we were seen together. Otherwise, I may need to begin investigating The Prophet for the infringement of privacy.”

Disappointment stabbed through Hermione so unexpectedly that she felt shaken. As much as she did not wish to be pictured in The Prophet herself, Malfoy’s reaction all but proved his distaste for her. Being rumored to be dating her would be understandably outrageous. But to even be seen with her at all seemed to disgust him just as much.

She felt her eyes growing wet. Deep down, she had been hoping for something with Malfoy - but for what she wasn’t certain. Maybe it was just civility, or maybe it was even getting along. Maybe it was something even more than that.

Whatever it was, it clearly was not something Malfoy had any interest in. She decided he must have been toying with her from the moment she bumped into him.

Determined not to let any real tears form, she focused back on the conversation at hand. The stocky wizard had grown pale, and his assistant had become overly preoccupied with his tools.

“Ah certainly, that’s understood, Mr. Malfoy. We assure you no investigation will be necessary. We’re very sorry to have interrupted your night. And yours as well, Miss Granger.” The pair of Prophet workers shuffled away and escaped into the crowd as quickly as they had come.

Malfoy stood tense, gazing off at the spot where they had disappeared. It was quiet for a moment before Hermione decided to speak.

“I suppose your reputation is safe now,” she said bitterly.

“My reputation? I did it for the both of us,” he replied in the same cool manner as before, his back still turned.

“Oh, please. Being seen with me would sully the Malfoy name. Even though you try to convince everyone you’ve changed, I’m sure you’d still rather be caught in the arms of a hag than seen talking to a dirty Mudblood like me.”

He turned to her sharply, eyes wide.

“I’ll be on my way so you can go find a more suitable witch to be pictured with. I was leaving already anyway,” she said, struggling to keep her voice steady.

She began to turn away, but she was stopped forcefully as he grabbed her arm.

“Is that what you think of me?” he asked cuttingly. His grip on her arm was tight, and his expression had turned into something Hermione could not quite place.

She didn’t know what she thought of him. After the war ended, other than their recent run-ins, she had only seen him in the papers or gossiped about in Ministry hallways. His image had been redeemed to the public, but to Hermione, his reformed self was a mystery. She couldn’t help but remember the haughty boy sneering down at her at Hogwarts.

From the time in the lift to now, every time they had met, she would admit she had been affected by him. But he had probably been sneering at her all along, just like before.

“Do you really care what I think?” she answered quietly. His eyebrows furrowed and his grey eyes searched her own. She could feel the tears she had been trying so hard to fight back threatening to reappear.

“Granger…”

“I’m done talking to you tonight, Malfoy.”

His grip had loosened and she used the opportunity to break out of his hold. Desperate to mask her convoluted emotions, she held her head high, and briskly turned and left.


	2. The Maze

Hermione couldn’t remember much of her escape from the ballroom except the hastiness of her retreat and the slew of complicated feelings she had carried with her. She had found her way outside through the nearest garden doors, made her way past an enchanted orchestra crowded by partygoers, and ended up by a towering wall of cobwebbed rose bushes.

A small arched opening led inside the thicket, and she slipped in quickly, wanting to be alone. She followed the hedges blindly until the waltz the orchestra had been playing had dulled to a faint sound in the distance.

_“Merlin… What’s wrong with me?”_ she thought, letting out a frustrated sigh and dropping down to a crouch in the grass.

She was a woman now, so changed from the girl she had been at Hogwarts, yet she still somehow had gotten her feelings hurt by the pureblood sensibilities of Draco Malfoy. The entire thing was completely irrational. While she had been hurt by bullying in her younger years, she had become someone who could fight for herself and others who were discriminated against. On top of that, the world was changing after the war, and her Muggle born status was barely questioned now, even by purebloods.

Yet somehow, something about the blonde haired man was still able to make her feel as small as she had during First Year, when she had mistakenly burst into his compartment on the Hogwarts Express and been shunned. It was, again, completely irrational.

There were few things that Hermione hated more than things that were irrational.

She tried to arrange the facts in her mind to try to regain some semblance of logic toward it all. It was infuriatingly certain that she was attracted to him. But it was also certain he couldn’t allow rumors to go around of the two of them together. Could it have been because her blood status was still too far below him? If he couldn’t let go of the elitist ideals bred into him, she would never be able to respect him, regardless of whether or not everyone else believed him to be reformed.

Letting loose another sigh, less angrily this time, she felt herself calming down as her thoughts fell into place. She resolved that the best course of action was to avoid him as much as possible. It wouldn’t be too difficult because she hardly saw him as it was. The attraction would pass, and she could forget that it ever happened.

It was silly to be wallowing about Malfoy alone in the garden when it was Halloween and there was still a party to be enjoyed. Harry and Ginny were probably looking for her, and she still hadn’t seen Neville. Determined not to let the rest of the night go to waste, she stood up and made her way back the way she had come.

As she walked, the music from the orchestra became even fainter. It was puzzling, as she was absolutely certain she had come from the same direction, and that the music should have been getting louder. No longer entrenched in her own thoughts, she focused on analyzing her surroundings.

The hedges around her were walls of blood red roses and thorny vines tangling in on themselves. It had grown dark, making it hard to see more than a few meters down the path in front of her. Only the moon shone onto the grassy earth, accompanied by a few stray fairy lights that floated up above. And the farther along she walked, the colder it seemed to become.

She decided she must have misremembered her directions and took out her wand. She thought of the entrance hall to the party and prepared to apparate, bracing herself for the jump, and- 

Nothing happened. Shocked, she stared openly around her, verifying she was in the same place she had been standing before. The only explanation that made sense was that there were anti-apparition wards in place. The fact that there were anti-apparition wards, and that the setting looked as it did, triggered an understanding in Hermione that she was loath to accept. There was only one place she could be.

She cursed herself, remembering why she had parted with Harry and Ginny in the first place. They had been going to the bloody garden maze. The same bloody garden maze she had blindly wandered into.

She cursed herself again, and then cursed Malfoy for good measure. This was his fault too, after all. What was it about Halloween that always made her encounter the most vexing types of circumstances?

Taking a deep breath in, and exhaling loudly, she willed herself to be calm. Her only choice now was to try to find her way out of the maze, and being calm would help her do so much more quickly. There were many more antagonizing things she could be dealing with than solving a nonsensical spooky maze.

“ _Lumos_ ,” she murmured. Light instantly radiated from the tip of her wand. She held it up to see more clearly ahead, and began to make her way down the dark path before her.

As she walked, she encountered a handful of creepy surprises that made her remember that most people entered the maze for fun. Skeletons popped out of the bushes and danced around her, willow trees greeted her with dark jokes, and bats circled her head as if acknowledging her as their own before flying swiftly away. While she had jumped once or twice at something unexpected, nothing had truly terrified her like Harry had heard about. She might have even enjoyed the experience were it not for the load of dead ends she met.

After circling the maze for twenty minutes, she cast a cushioning charm on her shoes, as the heels had begun making her ankles ache. She lowered her wand to pick at a few leaves that were stuck in her skirts, not bothering to stop walking.

“Look what I’ve finally found,” sang a woman’s voice, startling her. The voice was shrill, almost melodic, and a tiny bit crazed.

Hermione froze in place, recognizing the speaker’s voice at once. A fierce chill spread all throughout her body and her eyes flew around desperately. The same panic she had felt only during the war, and sometimes afterward in her nightmares, jolted her senses into overdrive.

She had wandered into a round grassy area that was covered in a thick grey fog. It was eerily quiet, more so than any other part of the maze had been, as if all sound had been stolen except for that of the rapid breaths she was taking.

The tendrils of the fog before her undulated and separated, and from their depths stepped the unmistakable figure of Bellatrix Lestrange.

“Did you think your dirty blood would be enough for our Draco?” she hissed, eyes wide and nostrils flared. “How dare you! Filthy Mudblood thinks so highly of herself doesn’t she? Well, I can make her remember her place.”

Hermione knew this was impossible. She knew Bellatrix had been killed at the Battle of Hogwarts. The body had been on the stone ground for all to see. No one had wanted to touch it, and it was only removed once Narcissa Malfoy was ordered to take it away.

But even though it was impossible, and that there must be an explanation, Hermione was not able to think. Bellatrix moved toward her, closing the distance between them, and she flinched backwards. Inexpressible pain and fear from her memories paralyzed her completely.

Suddenly she was back on the floor in Malfoy Manor, while Bellatrix stood over her writhing body, screaming something in delight. In flashes, she made out the corner of the room, where Malfoy was standing with his mother. They were both tight lipped and expressionless, watching her break. A great sense of hopelessness overcame her in a violent wave.

“Silly brainless mudblood. You can’t escape from me. I’ve been wanting to play with you for a long, long time,” Bellatrix said, snapping Hermione back into the present. She was close now, excitement seeping out of the crazed smile plastered on her lips.

Her eyes were wide with glee as she raised her wand.

Hermione knew what was coming, knew that she should defend herself. Her trembling hand scrambled toward her own wand, but she was far too slow.

“ _CRUCIO_ ,” Bellatrix screamed.

Hermione dropped to hard earth, curling in on herself. The nerve splitting, mind breaking pain that should accompany the curse caused her body to reactively cringe away. She expected a thousand invisible razors to claw their way out of her flesh and for a fire that consumed every drop of blood in her body to slowly spread throughout her veins. She expected it so much that she was sure she felt it.

But something wasn’t right.

Weakly, she looked up at the Bellatrix that stood above her. Her black hair was flying around her head as she cackled, just the way Hermione always saw her in her nightmares. It was so much like the way it always happened in her nightmares that…

“ _CRUCIO,_ ” the Bellatrix screamed again, and Hermione closed her mind instinctively. On those plush, luxurious carpets of Malfoy Manor, she had learned that it was better not to think. Being numb and mindless was better than feeling or acknowledging what was happening. She could only hope she could detach from her mind long enough to separate from the pain without losing her sanity in the process.

“ _Riddikulus!_ ”

Hermione barely heard the shout that came from behind her through her half disjoined mental state. In her haze, she only noticed a white beam of light hit Bellatrix because it smacked into the witch with the jarring sound of a whip’s crack. Bellatrix’s body bent, pooling into a black amorphous mass before transforming into a tiny blue and emerald peacock. It squacked indignantly before turning on its foot and running off into the darkness.

Dazedly, she stared at the place the fake Bellatrix had been, her mind distant.

“Granger,” someone said. She thought she recognized this voice too, and wondered if they were here to torture her next.

“Granger, you have to snap out of it. Look at me.” The someone that was speaking to her was shaking her by the shoulders. Her body jerked away as she realized it, but the grip on her arms tightened, holding her in place.

“Look at me,” they repeated. She turned her head and a familiar pair of grey eyes slid into her vision. They were focused intently upon her, assessing her earnestly. She stared blankly back at them for a few moments before truly understanding who they belonged to. Malfoy was crouched on the ground in front of her, clutching her shoulders to hold her upright.

“Malfoy I-” She gasped weakly. “I don’t understand. Bellatrix- She-”

“She’s not real. None of this was real,” he said firmly. “It was all just a boggart.”

“A boggart?” She repeated dumbly. She realized she was trembling. He seemed to notice it at the same moment, his eyes flickering as they held her gaze.

“It’s all right now,” he said, more gently than she could ever have imagined him capable of speaking. “You’re all right. My au- Bellatrix has been dead for two years.”

Hermione’s wits began to return to her piece by piece as she turned the words over in her mind. To face one’s worst fear, even though that fear was already dead, could only be explained by the presence of a boggart. The elevated feeling of panic and flow of adrenaline slowly began to seep out of her as she regained her senses.

Something rippled in him as he watched her and he erupted darkly, “It’s moronic bringing boggarts to a party so soon after a war. Not to mention illegal. Potter was about to lose his guts on the terrace when I saw him on my way after you. They invited the Boy Who Lived to play with boggarts and didn’t consider his greatest fear might not be a giant spider?”

“A boggart…” Normally, she would be more than disappointed that she had been unable to work out the truth sooner, but she was too shaken to be miffed at herself.

He focused on her again, and began to speak carefully. “Yes, a boggart is a shape-shifting non-being. It takes the form of your worst fear-”

“I know what a boggart is.” The words shot out of her mouth before she could hold them back. They had both been in the same third year Defense Against the Dark Arts class when they had seen them for the first time, after all. His lips quirked but he said nothing.

“I should have known that’s what it was. I think somewhere deep down I did know, but when I saw her standing there… I couldn’t move.” Hermione closed her eyes, silently berating herself for the way she reacted. “If that were real, if she had been real, I would be dead or worse.”

Several quiet moments passed before she opened her eyes. Malfoy was no longer looking at her.

“I still see her too sometimes,” he said. “I see them all. I see all of the things they did, while I stood by. Just watching.”

His mouth opened and then closed like the words he meant to form weren’t ready to be released. His jaw clenched like a gate holding them back. But then finally, he decided to speak.

“That night, in the Manor. I can still remember the way you screamed.”

He looked down at her arm where her scar was fully visible. The raised letters shined paley in the moonlight: _MUDBLOOD_.

“That was not something you deserved.”

Hermione did not know if she was more confused the moment she encountered the boggart in the form of Bellatrix Lestrange, or this moment in which Draco Malfoy was expressing remorse over her torture. He had never given her reason to believe he was anything more than powerless, or even cowardly, while she had been exposed to the Cruciatus Curse. Perhaps he really had changed. Or perhaps he had been remorseful all along, hiding it behind a shuttered veneer.

“I- I appreciate you saying that,” she said, unsure of how to respond. “Many others suffered much worse than I did. I’m lucky that I’m alive. I’ve tried to put that night behind me but… I suppose I wish boggarts still took the form they did the first time I saw one.”

“What did you see the first time?”

“I saw Professor McGonagall telling me I had failed all of my O.W.L.s.” It sounded ridiculous to her now, but when it had happened, she had been so scared that she had spent the rest of the day studying all of her notes from every class.

“Of course it was.” He was close to smirking and his speech had slightly regained the usual snark it had been lacking since he had found her. “You always were such a swot. You had to get first place marks in everything.”

“I was a _swot?_ And you weren’t?”

“I was certainly a swot as well. You hit me in the face for it once, if I recall correctly.”

A laugh escaped her as she remembered it. The sound came out more shakily than she expected, sobering the recollection and reminding her of her current state. The effects of her panic after seeing the boggart had diminished drastically, but the awareness that Malfoy had seen her far more vulnerable than she would have liked began to take its place. Even so, without his intervention, she knew that she would have gone through extended torment and likely been left at the boggart’s mercy until it had grown bored.

“Thank you, Malfoy. For coming. If you hadn’t banished the boggart, I don’t know how long I would have stayed like that.”

The comment caused him to frown and stiffen, his grip on her shoulders tightening. The sensation drew her attention back to the fact that the two of them were still sitting closely together on the ground. The nearness of his body became apparent, and she could make out the different shades of black and grey that made up his irises. Looking down, she realized how messy her costume had become. Her skirts were twisted, sitting unevenly across her thighs, and one of her bat wings felt askew.

“You shouldn’t be thanking me,” he told her, dropping his hands from her shoulders abruptly. “Can you stand? If you’ve recovered enough, we should go.”

“I can manage.” Her shoulders had already begun to grow cold with the absence of his steadying grasp.

Wordlessly, he helped her up from the ground and turned away while she rearranged her costume.

“Do you know the way out?” She asked hopefully. Mental fatigue was beginning to creep into the edges of her mind and she wished deeply not to be imprisoned in the maze any longer. 

“Not yet. We’ll have to find it.”

“All right.” She nodded once and followed after him as he held up his wand and stepped forward into the labyrinth.

xXx

Swallowing down tiredness had been a skill Hermione had mastered when on the run during the war. If she could swallow it down then and manage to make it through, she could swallow it down now until they could find the exit. The shock of the boggart incident had shaken her deeply, but the initial fallout had mostly settled. In both wits and emotions, she felt more herself than before, but she could not ignore the uncomfortable truth that someone else had witnessed her mental breakdown. If she could help it, she greatly hoped not to reveal any more vulnerability to Malfoy.

A constant space was kept between them as he led her from path to path between the hedges. If she slowed or quickened her strides, he would do so as well, always keeping the same distance between them unless they encountered a dead end and had to turn around. He had not spoken again since they had left the foggy clearing.

_“So much for avoiding him,”_ she thought. In one night, she had gone from curiosity and attraction to hatred, and then even gratefulness towards the man who was now guiding her out of the maze. She felt indecisive as to whether or not she wanted to know what feeling might be next.

The silence between them began to try Hermione’s nerves after only five minutes and two dead ends had passed.

“Why did you turn it into a peacock?” The question sounded loud above the faint rustling of leaves around them.

Malfoy kept moving, ducking slightly to avoid an overhanging branch, his pale hair flashing in the moonlight. She wondered if he would be insistent on keeping a wordless trek, but eventually, he replied.

“It was the first thing that came to mind.”

“The first thing that came to mind when you saw Bellatrix Lestrange screaming out Unforgivables, was a peacock?”

He turned toward her just a little and shrugged one shoulder.

“At home we keep peacocks in the garden. My aunt hated them. Every time she visited the manor, she’d claim they were spies from the Order. She would have probably killed them all if she didn’t care about upsetting my mother.”

Amusement came over her as she thought of Bellatrix swatting away a swarm of strutting peacocks. The image was ridiculous but comical. Perhaps if she ran into a boggart again, she would remember to turn it into a peacock as well.

“I didn’t know your family kept peacocks. That’s oddly- err- fitting I suppose.”

He glanced back at her as she stepped over a pile of leaves and rose petals. One of his eyebrows was raised as he considered her statement.

“My mother is quite fond of them. We had many creatures at the estate before… everything. But now all that’s left is the peacocks and a couple of fruit bats.”

The mention of bats struck Hermione into remembering her costume, and what had transpired in the ballroom with the workers from The Prophet.

“That’s what you came here tonight as, isn’t it? Your costume, I mean. You came as a bat just like I did. That’s why we were asked to take a… couple costume photograph.”

“Finally figured it out, have you Granger?”

Even though she herself had dressed as a bat, she had not considered that he might have done the same. She had passed unfair judgment upon him the same way he had done to her when they were children. It was the very kind of behavior that Hermione condemned.

A beat of silence passed between them. The path they were on had begun to curve and twist so that whatever lay a few steps ahead was unable to be seen. Soft white fairy lights hovered closely above them, just out of arms’ reach. Malfoy’s pace had begun to slow and they had grown closer as they walked.

“I shouldn’t have said what I did earlier. About you being prejudiced against vampires. No, not just that. About you thinking I was a dirty Mudblood too.” Resting her fingers across the scarred flesh of her arm, she remembered the way he had so closely examined the mark earlier.

His unexpected words had etched themselves into her mind: _“That was not something you deserved.”_

“I misjudged you,” she said quietly.

“I don’t blame you. Given my family’s history, I am used to that sort of judgement.” The path narrowed even more but he continued on without pausing. A few small branches whined and cracked as he brushed past them.

“That doesn’t make it right.”

Malfoy said nothing in return, and the silence from before began threatening to wrap itself around them again. Before it could, she hesitated, and then a question that was burning inside of her spilled out.

“Why did you come after me?”

Malfoy’s figure tensed at once, the shape of his body straightening as he came to an abrupt stop. They had grown so close in their walk that she narrowly avoided stepping straight into him, instead brushing past him a few steps. She too was forced to stop as she came face to face with a wall of vines.

She had almost thought Malfoy had stopped because of the question she had asked. The question she was still desperate to learn the answer to.

“Another dead end,” she murmured in frustration.

She turned around, fully expecting to find him already making his way back down the path they had come from.

Instead, she found him just the same as when he had stopped. He was standing a few paces from her, tension pulling his body into hard lines. His gray eyes pierced hers, the same way they had in the ballroom, when she had first seen him earlier that night swirling his wine glass. They were like daggers, pinning her to the spot.

“Are you sure that you want to know why I came after you?”

A hint of uncertainty radiated out of him as his jaw clenched and unclenched. But there was something else there too, something she could sense, something she was both afraid of knowing and unable to resist learning.

“Yes, I’m sure. Why did you come after me?”

“I care about what you think,” he said plainly. The words stunned her.  
  
“What?” she asked.

“That’s what you asked me, back in the ballroom, before you ran off. Whether or not I cared about what you think. I wanted to tell you my answer. That’s why I followed you into the garden. Once I saw Potter raving about a maze full of boggarts, and I couldn’t find you anywhere, I knew where you must have been. You Gryffindors always have a knack for attracting trouble no matter where you go.”

Malfoy was no longer looking at her as he spoke. He ran a hand through his hair, causing it to become uncharacteristically messy. Discomfort showed itself on his face in a way she had not seen since Hogwarts, when Harry had bested him at one thing or another. On those occasions, Malfoy had always been so unwilling and so unpracticed at admitting his weaknesses. This time, she was struck by how boyish he looked.

“But then… why didn’t you want anyone to know we had been seen together?”

He sighed, his eyebrows knitting together.

“If that got out in The Prophet, you’d have gotten owled separately by my mother _and_ my father by morning. I’m sure you would not have enjoyed hearing what they had to say. And that’s not the right order of... things.”

His eyes slid back to hers, and the boyishness that had marked his face disappeared. In its place, the familiar cool demeanor slipped back in, sharpening his features as he stared intently at her.

“The right order? Of what?” Nothing was making any sense.

“Courtship,” he said, his tone matter of fact.

“Courtship,” she repeated, her mouth falling open. The word spun around her mind in a torrent of disbelief as she tried to make sense of it.

“Yes, since _I_ winked at _you_ in the cafeteria, I’ve been trying to court you. Just like you said,” he drawled. With just one step, he prowled closer, and she suddenly felt like a mouse caught in his trap. The nonchalant and unpredictable Malfoy had returned completely. Hermione took a step back instinctively, keeping a gap between them.

“You must be joking,” she laughed.

“Try not to look so stunned.” Another step brought him closer, and she stepped backward once more. The corner of his lip turned up and she began to shake her head. Hermione had not known what answer she had expected, but this had not been it. This was an unlikelihood she had never considered.

“I doubt you’ve been trying to court me all this time. Unless snogging other witches in dark Ministry hallways was also a part of your brilliant plan?”

“Yes. Actually, it was.” A full smirk crossed his lips then, and he took another step toward her. This time, when she backed up, she found herself against the hedge, unable to go any farther.

“That’s… irrational.” she managed, aware her pulse was now pounding in her throat.

“It has its uses.”

When he stepped forward again, he came close enough that she could feel his breath, but just far enough that their bodies did not touch. In that small moment, she could have pushed away from the hedge and distanced herself from him, but she couldn’t move as her thoughts spun. The heat of his body enveloped her, and she tilted her head back to look up into the dark of his eyes.

“How could that possibly have uses?” It was becoming harder and harder to conjure words, but she was determined to figure out his game.

“You still ask too many questions, Granger. We both know you’re clever enough to figure it out on your own.”

His gaze dropped down to her lips and heat rose within her. His eyes traced them slowly, like he was examining every line and every swell of her mouth. It was rebellious the way her heart seemed to clench under his stare.

_“He wanted me to see. He wanted me to wonder what it was like.”_ She flushed as the realization swept over her. The branches of the hedge shuddered, snagging on her wings as she moved backward, forgetting she had already been boxed into the dead end behind her.

“It seems like you’ve figured something out. Care to share with the rest of the class?”

Fully trapping her on all sides, his arms tangled in the branches around her.

“Not likely.”

Dragging themselves away from her lips, his eyes came back up to meet hers.

“I know that you’ve thought about it before now. Why else would you bring it up on your own?”

A half arrogant, half teasing smile began on his face.

“I’ve done no such thing.”

The space between them grew imperceptible as he moved even closer.

“I can show you what you’ve wondered, Hermione.” A shiver ran through her as she heard her name pass from his lips for what must have been the first time. He seemed to notice it, moving no closer. Whatever instinctive, stubborn response she might have come up with stalled in her throat.

“Let me show you,” he said softly, and it was spoken not as a command but as an appeal. His eyes searched hers for a moment, his expression softening. Hermione was still in disbelief, but that disbelief was being drowned out by the unruly, heated anticipation curling inside her. Whatever he was seeking, he must have found it on her face, because before she could speak again, Malfoy’s lips were on her own.

The feeling was like velvet, supple and delicate all at once. All of her senses bent into it, as everything else melted away except for the feeling of his mouth on hers. The soft warmth of his kiss defied all of the cold hardness she would have expected. He was slow and gentle, as if revelling in the impossibility of kissing her for the first time.

A bud of bewitchment and exhilaration sprouted inside of her that she didn’t know had existed. It was like learning a new charm for the first time. It was the same feeling when magic that had been sleeping inside her, unknown, had finally coalesced in a way that felt overwhelmingly right. But the thrilling moment shifted, replaced by an insistent hunger, and she was abruptly reminded this was not a spell, but Malfoy, as he deepened the kiss and began to devour her.

A small gasp parted her lips, and he fed on them, not allowing her to catch her breath. The gentleness of the kiss was replaced entirely with an insistent need.

His hard body pressed into hers. The branches and leaves at her back strained, scratching at her as she was pushed into them. One of his arms coiled around her waist, and the other found its way to her hair as he moved his mouth over hers, tracing over every outline. Everywhere his hands and mouth touched her created fire on her flesh.

Then his hand was sliding through her hair, his grasp turning her head into a tilt. She was confused only for a moment until his mouth left hers, fluttering over her jawline, and then down to her exposed neck. She found herself wrapping her arms around his shoulders, hanging onto him as he worked on the spot. The tips of his sharpened fangs pricked at her and she whimpered almost desperately.

A dark sound rumbled in the back of his throat. He strained against her, pushing his body completely flush with hers as he moved back to her mouth. One of his legs settled between her own and she could feel her skirt sliding up. The tension between them caused her to gasp again, and this time he swept his tongue inside her mouth.

She was becoming drunk on the sensation, the heat, the escalation of this certain madness. A dam had broken down between them and neither could stop what it had held back from overflowing. Logic was begging her to end this now, reminding her that she was kissing- no- _snogging_ Draco Malfoy. But not even the purest, most unquestionable logic would break this enchantment.

One of his hands had settled on the side of her leg. It traced wide, tantalizing circles on her flesh, before slowly sliding up, higher and higher, toward the curve of her hip. It almost reached the edge of her skirt when-

_Whoosh!_

The tangled mess of the hedge behind her had vanished into nothing, and she felt her stomach drop from under her as she fell backwards into cold air. Malfoy stumbled forward along with her, as she fell away from him, not stopping until she abruptly met hard ground and wet grass. He barely caught himself from collapsing on top of her, instead planting his hands on either side of her while catching himself on his knees. Close by, the sound of an orchestra that had not been there before was playing a slow melody.

Shock had plastered its way onto his face and he drew back swiftly, rising from the ground as his gaze flew around their surroundings. Still sprawled in the grass, Hermione watched as the hedge they had burst out of twisted shut behind him. The sound of tinkling glasses and faint chatter buzzed in the air, and she knew that the maze must have kicked them out. They were back in the gardens, right on the outskirts of the still ongoing party.

Malfoy looked back down at her, and quickly lowered an outstretched hand. She accepted it and he pulled her up, helping her right herself. Laughter sparked from a pair of attendees somewhere close by, and she almost flinched in surprise. He took a step back from her and she realized that they were both breathing quickly, panting for air. Hair mussed, and eyes still dark, he looked away.

They both seemed to agree on mutual silence, catching their breath. They had ended up near a small pond Hermione hadn’t noticed before that was covered in orange and black water lilies. She didn’t see any witches or wizards nearby enough to have noticed them tumbling out from the bushes. The air outside the hedges was chilly, but it seemed even colder with the absence of his body.

“I suppose that’s one way out of the maze,” she finally said.

His eyes snapped back to her, surprise still coloring his features. Sweeping his hand over his hair, he flattened it neatly back into place, seeming to regain his composure in the same motion.

“Yes. It must not have cared much for what we were doing.”

Remembering what they had been doing, or what they might have done, caused the heat to rise in her again.

“It must be spelled to detect- err- indecent activities.”

As soon as she said it, both of his eyebrows raised high, like he couldn’t believe what he had just heard. Amused at his expression, she heard herself chuckling. A grin spread over his face, exposing his teeth, and then they were both laughing loudly together. She had never seen him laugh so openly before, and she admired the way his eyes crinkled when he did.

When they had both finally stopped laughing, the air between them no longer felt tense like it had in the ballroom, or charged like it had against the hedge. Instead it now felt light and comfortable.

The enchanted orchestra began to play a faster tune, and more and more people seemed to be drawn outside into the garden to listen or dance.

“Would you like to rejoin the party?” he asked.

“I don’t know…”

“I could leave if you wanted to go back alone. I wouldn’t mind, you know.”

“No, that’s not what I meant,” she said quickly. “It’s just been a long night and I must look like a mess.”

“You look like you’ve been thoroughly kissed, if that’s what you mean.” It was probably a fact, but she almost detected pride lurking in his voice as he said it. Her lips felt swollen and when she ran a hand through her hair, a leaf fell out.

“I should go,” she decided. The thought of Harry or Ginny seeing her like this, even without Malfoy, made her shake with exhaustion. She would be glad to fill them in, but not tonight. It would be hard enough to explain even when she had all of her energy.

“Let me accompany you back. Did you come here by Floo?”

“Yes,” she lied without thinking. Perhaps it was because she was so drained from the whirlwind of events of the night that she didn’t feel like apparating back. Perhaps it was because she wanted to spend a little bit more time in Malfoy’s company. Whatever the reason, she found herself being escorted across the garden by purposeful strides and a warm hand resting on her lower back.

The two of them skirted around the edge of the crowd that was forming outside, slipping into a side door that entered a dark corner of the ballroom. The amount of people inside had grown sparser and she was glad she did not spot anyone she recognized as Malfoy led her into a hallway she hadn’t noticed before. Past a few cobwebs and fake phantoms was a small room, empty save for the large fireplace crackling within.

Before she could move toward the hearth, she was swept inside the room toward the wall. They were kissing again, and her heart swelled right where it had left off outside in the maze. It was strong but pure, less hungry than before, and she thought that she could get used to kissing him like this if she wasn’t careful. It stopped as quickly as it had begun, and the firelight cast shadows on his face as he looked down at her.

Not trusting herself to leave if he decided to do that again, she pulled away from him.

“Thank you for the escort,” she said, blood buzzing. She made her way to the fireplace, gathering up the proper amount of Floo powder.

“Should I not have done that?” he asked.

She paused, turning back to look at him and saw that he was frowning. The image of him standing there was impossible. The man who had insulted her, bullied her, and been on the wrong side of the war. The man who, despite these things, had lit an annoying spark under her skin for the past few months. The man who had started the evening frustrating her with his snide remarks, and ended it with saving her from a boggart. And he stood looking at her, bleeding with discomfort, as he asked her if he should have kissed her or not.

With a practiced roll of her eyes, she stepped backwards towards the fireplace.

“Good night, _Draco_ ,” she said.

The frown melted from his face, and the corner of his lips began to turn upward. Before his smirk could fully form, she dispersed the Floo powder, saying her flat’s location, and the image of him disappeared before she had to witness his gratification.

She burst out of the flames in her flat’s living room, wearing a smile of her own.

xXx

The next morning, Hermione woke to a front page spread of herself and Draco in The Prophet, an owl from Narcissa Malfoy asking her to tea, and a separate owl from Lucius Malfoy with a letter that she was too afraid to open immediately. And that afternoon, a final owl arrived bearing a pompously scrawled note that had been tied neatly with a green ribbon.

_Hermione,_

_If you have some time away from your Magical Creatures drivel, meet me at The Snapping Lantern at 7 on Friday night. I will try my best to make sure there are no indecent activities. Unless you would prefer otherwise._

_\- Draco_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End. Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed.


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